


好きさ

by imahira



Category: Rookies - Morita Masanori & Related Fandoms
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Canon - Manga, Canon-Typical Threats of Murder, First Time Blow Jobs, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Panties, Possible Underage Character, brojobs, maid outfit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-27
Updated: 2017-10-27
Packaged: 2019-01-23 20:15:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12515668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imahira/pseuds/imahira
Summary: Hiratsuka is rewarded for being rude and difficult.





	好きさ

**Author's Note:**

> this is like history's flimsiest setup, but whatever. let's say this is senior year so they're 18 here.

No one had actually expected the maid cafe theme to get approved, and by the time the school festival arrived, it was no longer even clear who had suggested it in the first place. The would-be maids were unenthusiastic to say the the least, and the would-be chefs, it turned out, were liable to burn water if left unsupervised. Most of the prepatory period in the weeks leading up to the festival were spent in pinning the blame on whoever happened to be out of the room. By the day of the festival, the class had reached the stage of quiet acceptance. This was going to be a case of gritting their teeth, bearing it, getting a few polite customers, and a 50/100 for effort.

In the midst of all this, they had lost track of Hiratsuka. Imaoka could have told them that this was never a good idea, but of course he'd forgotten too. It wasn't like Hiracchi had bothered showing up for any of the meetings—or been missed. He'd been uncharacteristically quiet on the subject, too. The logical assumption was that he just didn't care.

Somewhere along the line, though, he'd decided that this was one more of the events that the rest of humanity put on from time to time, conceived, planned and carried out entirely for his benefit. And, the available roles  
being a choice between the chefs in the back room and the maids out front, the result was almost a foregone conclusion.

Most of the chefs made a few attempts to escape out front. Their hats weren't starched professionally enough to avoid drooping from all the steam, and standing around looking tired and hard-working was a lot more fun than getting tired from hard work.

Imaoka, on the other hand, spent the day in the back room. One look had told him that this maid cafe was going to be a serious hazard to his health.

"Um, Imaoka..." Mikoshiba hesitated for a second. "Did Hiratsuka mention anything about this to YOU?"

"Huh-uh." Poker face.

Mikoshiba didn't look convinced, but it was the truth. Imaoka couldn't have stopped him if he _had_ mentioned it, but he would have taken some precautions. Like wearing a cup, maybe.

He shrugged. "He just does stuff sometimes."

"Yeah, I guess so." Mikoshiba sighed, in a way Imaoka couldn't help but find offensive, and they returned to the food.

It was some time before Imaoka felt safe enough to turn around. In all the ruckus of dismantling the cafe front, he was pretty sure no one else noticed Hiracchi sneaking off on his own. Or maybe they were just relieved. He felt a little bad about following him instead of helping with the cleanup, but in a way he was doing the class a favor by keeping an eye on Hiracchi. After all, it'd be kind of a shame not to get a good look in while he had the chance. It wasn't like he'd spent the day in back because he _didn't_ want to look. Just not the kind of look you could take in front of an audience.

Plus. Maybe Hiracchi wasn't completely done showing off yet.

It wasn't exactly hard to follow Hiracchi, but he liked to think all the practice he'd had was helping. Even if the lights hadn't been off in the hall, revealing a beam of yellow across the floor in front of a single room, he felt like he could've  The door wasn't one he recognized, but the sign read _Flower-Arranging Club_. Much fancier letters than the baseball club's sign. It was open about half the length of his arm, which was somehow more of a warning sign than being fully closed. Whatever was going on, it was best for the school that Imaoka step in before it went too far.

Hiracchi was on a table in the middle of the room. The maid outfit was a little too small; not dangerously, but enough to bulge in a few imporant places.

The view was a short one, though, because it was only a second before Hiracchi looked up and nearly fell off the table. "Shit! Would you knock or something?!"

"I didn't know you had a key to here." It looked pretty fancy. Tatami and everything. "Is this where you go when you're not in class?"

"This is my home away from home, okay?" Hiracchi tried unsuccessfully to rearrange the folds of his skirt into a less suspicious bunch. "My zone of privacy. My personal sleeping quarters. So can you fuck off? Fuck's sake," he added. "Almost thought you were someone important."

"I always thought you were shy about pooping or something. Or you really liked jerking off on the roof." This was bringing a lot into focus. "You're sleeping now? In that?"

"I'm not napping _after_ school, dumbass, I just need a minute alone!"

"So you have been jerking off."

"Not every day!" He grimaced. "Underwear they sent me's too small or something. All lacy and shit, too. It's been chafing all day."

"You're wearing... panties?"

"Duh! They came with the dress!"

"Hiracchi..." His self-control was completely unraveling. "I think you might have ordered that from the wrong kind of company."

"I have had a boner," Hiracchi said, "since 10:21 AM, and I don't have time for your shit right now."

"Me too. The boner part, I mean."

Hiracchi looked up for the first time since replacing himself on the table. "Ecchh! What's your problem?!"

"Same thing."

"Special chef underwear? They've gotta wear this stuff while they cook?"

"It wasn't the underwear. Just... you know, maid outfits."

It was vague enough to be true. And it seemed to satisfy him.

"Well, yeah, that was some good shit. I was the star, though. If there'd been ten of me we would've won for sure. They should give out an MVP award too. I could've carried _something_ off without the rest of you sandbagging me. Honest to God, it's like none of you even care about customer service." He tried again to roll up a layer of skirt. "These," he added, confidingly, "are a goddamn nightmare. Can you hear them stretching or are your ears too weak?"

"I could..." The words stumbled out before he had time to think. "I could help."

"How? Why? What?!"

"Seems convenient."

"You mean you'll hold the skirts up."

"I mean the... other kind of helping."

"You'd touch my dick?" If there was ever a time for Hiracchi to get suspicious about attention, this wasn't the one Imaoka would've picked. "For free?"

"It'll be faster. I don't wanna get locked in overnight," Imaoka added. He actually wouldn't mind that at all, at the moment.

There was a scowl building on Hiracchi's face, but it was his thoughtful scowl, not his angry one. "If you think I'm doing yours—"

"You don't have to. I'm not wearing a skirt."

"It's not about the skirt, it's the delicate fabric," Hiracchi said, as his face screwed up even further. (He was so cute when he tried to think.) It was a few more moments before the pot boiled over. "I'll just pretend you're a girl."

"Great." Imaoka was on the floor before Hiracchi could get too good a look at his face, which was showing mixed emotions, both kind of incriminating.

The first thing that occured to him was that he had to write some kind of thank-you letter to the flower arranging club for having a table the exact right height for giving blowjobs on your hands and knees. It was called ergonomics, he was pretty sure. Then darkness descended as the skirts rustled over his head.

"There. Now I don't have to look at your stupid face."

Shit.

This was hot.

He just wished there was another one of him outside to watch Hiracchi. Couldn't have everything in life, though.

The underwear was definitely too small. He'd caught a flash of red before the skirts dropped, so that was his best guess in the darkness. _Christ, Hiracchi,_ _**red panties** —_if these even qualified as panties. His dick was hanging out to the right, mostly hard, and as he got a hand around it, it stiffened fully and then jerked away as Hiracchi shot back on the table.

"Fuck! Gimme a warning or something!"

"Wasn't it all the way up before?"

"Yeah, before _you_ broke in and started talking!"

The bunch in the skirts had actually started drooping back when Hiracchi tried thinking too hard, but Imaoka managed to keep his mouth shut. He could correct the record later. With his other hand he went in for the panties. They were a strip of lacy... something, he wasn't sure what. Girls' understuff wasn't exactly his thing. They were maybe four centimeters wide and barely supporting the balls—one of which was also hanging out, but to the left, which was interesting. The skirts gave way under him like tissue paper as he inched forward on his knees.

Imaoka was pretty sure this was not a school-approved maid outfit.

He said a silent prayer of thanks before actually leaning in to take it in his mouth.

"What the fu—what are you doing?!"

"Mmph?"

"Is that your—I thought you were gonna—like, _normal!_!With your hands!"

"Ummph." Imaoka thought about his options. "I coulgh—I could switch," he said, reluctantly and with a depressingly empty mouth.

There was a pause.

"Uh," Hiracchi said, a little strained. "Nah, I mean... you already started and everything."

Imaoka hesitated before lowering his head again. He'd been too excited to remember the first time, but... "Are you gonna be loud?"

"I am not gonna be **_LOUD!_** "

"I just think there's still teachers around, so if you're gonna be—"

"Do you _know_ how crowded my house is?" Their families were the same size, but Imaoka let that go. "I am the master of whacking it discreetly. Not once in my life have I—"

There was a soft hiss as Imaoka lowered his head again, and when a hand dropped onto his head, digging into his hair even through all the skirts, he was glad the sound he made was muffled. Maybe it was creepy to sniff, but he did it anyway, mouth starting to water. (Hard to sniff with your mouth full, it turned out.)

It smelled like cock. He wasn't sure what else he'd been expecting. And sweat, too. He thought about Hiracchi sweating under the black and white skirts all day, beaming at the customers and basking in attention, with  
a pair of slippery red panties rubbing against a slowly growing hard-on.

He didn't exactly mind how much Hiracchi needed an audience to be happy. It wasn't like he was letting any of _them_ blow him at school in stockings and a maid outfit.

Something lacy brushed his chin; the edge of the barely-there panties he hadn't even bothered lowering. If this were anyone else he would have asked what, at any point, had made the panties seem like a good idea. With Hiracchi there was no use asking. He thought any idea was a good one as long as it popped into his own head. And all things considered, this wasn't turning out to be such a bad one.

Imaoka let himself groan a little, a slight exhalation of happiness as he settled into a rhythm, bobbing his head really careful like the lady in that grainy video Hiracchi wouldn't stop lending him. The pre-cum was salty, but he was ready for it. He'd tasted his own a few times just so he would be—or maybe just so he could pretend a little better. Like he did most nights, closing his eyes tight and mouthing the air just like it said to do in all those magazines hidden under his mattress. Unless he was busy thinking about getting fucked in left field, pants around his ankles and grass tickling his legs, or in an empty classroom, bent over a desk with Hiracchi's voice in his ear telling him to quit being so damn loud.

They always kissed at the end when he was imagining it, but he was pretty sure they weren't going to this time.

Imaoka paused for a moment, letting Hiracchi's heartbeat pound wildly onto his tongue. He sure wasn't complaining now.

 _God, you love attention._  That was okay. _Just hold me down here forever and let me give it to you._

Another hand settled onto his head, and it went empty.

The first thought that floated up, he wasn't sure how much later, was that this was so much better than fantasy. There was a lot about it the magazines expected ladies to know already. The weight on his tongue, the slight give of the skin as he pressed his tongue into the thick, stiff heat filling his mouth—

"Shit...! Just lemme come, already!"

His jaw was starting to ache, but he ran the tip of his tongue under the head one more time. Nice and slow. Not like Hiracchi was even talking to him.

"God—Imaoka _please_ —"

He was almost too dizzy to notice how hard Hiracchi bucked when when he came.

He swallowed reflexively, mouth still full of cock, before he even had time to enjoy it. Hiracchi grunted and started squirming, and he had to let go reluctantly as the skirts slid forward over his head. He caught another glimpse of the panties, still smaller—and redder—than the cock drooping out of them, shiny now with what Imaoka realized was his own spit. There were so many parts of today he was gonna have to commit to memory.

He clambered up onto the table a little shakily.

"The hell do you want now?" Hiracchi growled.

There probably wasn't a tactful way to say, _You licking your own cum off my face; too bad I swallowed._

"I thought you weren't gonna think about me."

"What girl is gonna be jerking me around like that?"

None, hopefully. Ever.

Again, Imaoka felt like that might be too much to share at the moment. He was coming to find that it was sometimes better to save things for future conversations. Without anything to react to, Hiracchi returned to what was turning out to be a favorite subject.

"You ripped my skirts!"

"I think they're supposed to rip. I told you, you picked the wrong kind of company to order from."

"I did not! I paid _my_ parents' hard-earned money for this thing, which I ordered from the _right_ company, and _you_ ripped it, and I expect you to pay me back! With interest."

"I just did."

Hiracchi opened his mouth, and then closed it.

"Did you need more interest?"

" _I'm_ going to sleep," Hiracchi announced. "You take care of your thing, I'm not helping."

"I'm done."

"You are not! You didn't have time."

Imaoka pointed to the evidence.

"Did you _come in your pants?!_ "

"You came in your skirt."

"But—I mean, you were just... How fast did you..." Hiracchi counted off on his fingers, 1-2-3-4, before realizing he wasn't really counting anything. "How'd you do that?" He looked almost awed.

"Tell you later. I wanna go to sleep too. We can sleep together."

"Gross! Don't touch me, jizz boy!" Hiracchi crossed one leg over the other so fast it was honestly impressive, and started struggling with the stockings.

"I think you have to lift... lift your legs," Imaoka said, dropping down to a mutter as he realized that wasn't actually such a good idea.

"I'm solving this my way." Hiracchi tossed a key at him. With way better aim than you'd expect. (Maybe he'd be a good pitcher if he tried flinging the balls sideways?) "Lock the damn door."

Imaoka thought about his spit drying down between Hiracchi's thighs and decided it was safer to be looking the other way for a few minutes. Especially since Hiracchi was obviously waiting for him to do that before he gave up on solving it his way.

As the latch clicked into place he realized that locking the door maybe should've happened before the blowjob. Except, knowing the door'd been ajar the whole time was going to be _incredibly_ hot as soon as he was capable of getting hard again. So maybe everything in life happened for a reason.

He turned back to see Hiracchi struggling with the maid outfit, arms back over his shoulders and pawing at the zipper from above with both hands.

"It's stuck," he said tragically. "Get it off me, I can't sleep like this."

It was the saddest thing Imaoka had ever seen. Like a dog with its head caught in a peanut butter jar.

He held his breath as he pulled the zipper and peeled the bodice part down, relieved or maybe disappointed to see there wasn't any matching lingerie underneath. It was hard to tell at this point. Hiracchi's arms were sweaty and too big for the dress and they could lift you off the ground if you happened to weigh about 30 kilograms less than him, but Imaoka was used to dealing with that, so getting the rest of the dress off was actually pretty easy.

"Don't look," Hiracchi protested. "I'm not decent."

"You sure aren't."

"I'm gonna kill you. Get me some goddamn blankets from the closet, I'm cold."

He fetched the blankets. They were bulky and his legs shook, but his head was nice and light and he liked doing things for Hiracchi. It was... gratifying. Not really a sexy word, but the idea felt like it had something to do with sex. Like how hearing "it's a pleasure" or "doing you a favor" made you pop a boner sometimes even if nothing sexy was happening. It was like both those ideas together, so extra sexy. (Maybe that didn't happen to everybody. He got the feeling sometimes his dick was kind of eccentric.)

It was nice being able to do something for Hiracchi and then see he was pleased about it. Even if he didn't always show it.

He did grab the blankets right up. No _thank you_ , but Imaoka hadn't expected one. The taking was how he showed he appreciated it.

"Fold the stockings," Hiracchi said, wrapping himself into a cocoon of blankets. "They're delicate."

"If they're so delicate you'd better handle them."

"My hands are too powerful—no, never mind, you'll just stick 'em in your mouth." He rolled into the direct center of the table. "I'll get it in the morning. Hey, put a blanket back, I'm boiling over here."

Imaoka loosened the top button on his uniform jacket. Not really comfortable enough to sleep in, but sleeping together with just blankets and no clothes seemed like the kind of thing you had to be married for. He didn't want to make this weird or anything.

Shirt and boxers were modest enough, he decided, slipping into the pile of bedding and trying to dig his way to Hiracchi.

"We're gonna get cold later," he said into Hiracchi's shoulder, when he found it. "They turn the heat off at night."

Hiracchi grunted but let him snuggle in closer.

"What was the interest for?"

"Emotional damages," Hiracchi said sulkily.

"You're not emotionally damaged."

"I am! How'm I supposed to wear it again now?!"

"I'll buy you a new one."

"And have me owe you? No thanks!"

"That's not really how I was thinking of it."

"Nice try, fucker, but we're even. End of story."

Imaoka resisted the urge to kiss the back of his big dumb neck. "If you say so."

He felt like ivy clinging to a tree, trying to wrap around arms and legs in the friendliest, least suspicious way possible.

"Listen," Hiracchi said, just as Imaoka was starting to think he'd gone to sleep. It was cute how he always said that, like Imaoka ever wasn't listening to him. "I can't believe you put your mouth on my dick."

"I did."

"But like—your mouth."

"Yeah."

"On my dick," Hiracchi insisted.

"Uh-huh."

"But what's it taste like?"

"Like... dick?" He tried again. "Like when you try really hard and you bend enough—you know, you can get it..."

"If I do fucking what?"

"Or I guess you could just rub it. Real hard. And then lick your hand."

"You know how lucky you are I put up with all your weird shit?"

"Yeah."

"And you've _still_ gotta tell me how you finished that fast."

"Mmm."

Hiracchi grunted again, probably not satisfied with that as a response, but tired enough to let it go for the moment. Imaoka hoped it was a long moment.

He did tell the truth. It was a habit.

But he waited to do it until he was sure Hiracchi was asleep.


End file.
